Room U89, the Royale Hotel

This happened quite a while ago. Nobody could have foreseen what would happen, least of all Slinky Bakewell or Dorimant.

There were faeries around then but you couldn't spot them easily. They were highly adept at changing shape and you wouldn't know that the fabulous collar of that lady's coat were faerie wings or that the man with the large overcoat was hiding his wings beneath it. Greenwood City was still edged with dense woodland that was said to be and for that matter was, full of faeries and other elementals. One guy swore he saw a dragon in the treetops, only a little one, it's tail coiled around the trunk. The faeries in particular were fascinated by city life and the opportunities it presented to them. They didn't like the cold iron in the cars and other such things, but they found a taste for alcohol and occasionally blood. They loved the fact that the city had been built by rational scientific types who did not believe in magick, especially in faeries.

Most people learned to get along with the faeries though, even mobs like the Roaring Boys, the Viscereality Mob. This was after Carlton Zugzwanger's mob the Blades, who seemed scared of nothing. Until they decided to mess with the faeries and suddenly disappeared from the city. After that, nobody and I mean nobody messed with the faeries.

Kit Dorimant was a long lean man with a wolfish look about him. He wore a pale dove grey suit and no tie. His shoes were basketball trainers, good for creeping around and good for running in. He drove a just about running car from the Fenris-Tywer Corporation. The car was old when his father was alive. Dorimant had inherited a love of women when his mother brought him up and a cynicism that he got from living in Greenwood City. His office was over Oliphaunts Emporium an upmarket grocers. He paid rent to Oliphaunt, a weary looking man running to fat and the expression of a basset hound. The office was a reasonable size and not too far from his home in Rampion Row. There was, in the office, a desk and two chairs, a filing cabinet with not much in it besides a bottle of fine Brandy, two glasses and an old book that was meant to be a ledger. Dorimant used his lawyer, Slingsby to do the accounts and Slingsby didn't bother him much.

The young woman in the pale blue silk dress was small and finely featured. Her eyes were tawny with green specks and her pale brown hair was well-styled. She wore an overcoat and a small hat that seemed to perch nervously on her head. The hat was black, the overcoat was a dark yew green. She did not seem afraid, but angry and determined to get what she would call justice. Dorimant leaned back in his chair and let it creak.

"So you're in Room U90 at the Royale and you hear noises next door. So what Miss Bakewell. Even you don't look like you couldn't guess what those noises meant. Or are you just an innocent little Sally Army gal who got lost?" he said dryly.

She frowned darkly and Dorimant braced himself for her ire.

"Mr Dorimant I am not an innocent by any means, but I am not a fool either. I would hardly be here to ask you to find out what's happening if I thought there was a couple making love next door to me." she answered with an ironical tone.

Dorimant paused then sat up and leaned his arms upon the desk. He asked her to describe the noises and frowned as she did so. She was not happy that the hotel detective had thought the same he had at first and dismissed her. But with the arrival of Prime Minister Straeger in a few days, she said urgently, if it was terrorists or anarchists. She left the thought unspoken and Dorimant sneered wolfishly at the implications.

"It might be faeries you know. But then I guess you could put them in the same basket as terrorists, most of the government do these days. Ok, if you have the money, I'll look into it. That will be 200 ducats a day and another 200 for expenses," he said sweetly.

As if he had made his disbelief in her ability to pay clear, she drew out of her handbag a large envelope and placed it in front of him triumphantly. He opened the envelope and whistled. There was 2000 ducats at least in the envelope. Enough for six days and some, he reckoned.

"Perhaps you are not familiar with the name of Selinka Bakewell or as my friends call me - Slinky?" she said softly.

He remembered then where he'd seen her, the heiress to the Bakewell Scientifics Imperium. At a fundraising dinner at Woodlawn Social Club out at the Southern edge of the City. He'd been on a job, or he would not have got in. Only the City's rich and 'good' were invited. He said he'd investigate and if it was nothing she'd get her money back. If there was something going on, she'd get weekly reports when he could. She left her card and left his office leaving only the faint trace of scent. Something beautiful had been in that worn out looking office and had vanished.

Dorimant locked up the money in a safe behind the filing cabinet and went out. He strolled down the street glancing here and there. A few people glanced back into his gunmetal grey eyes but he did not meet their gaze. At the Royale he asked if his friends the Cadmians had booked into U89 yet. The woman, a tall brunette in her forties with flat brown eyes and her hair in a bun that made her look too old, looked him over. She clearly did not believe that such a man could have friends who stayed at the Royale. But she could not prove it and scanned the register with her pen. Dorimant's eyes followed her pen until it stopped and noted the name away in his mind. Miss Sternwood. He felt his heart jump a little when he read the name and asked,

"Is there a Mr Fopling with her?"

The woman looked at him as if he'd asked her to dance naked in the lobby with him and said firmly,

"There is not."

He thanked her with a smile and turning away he left feeling her eyes on him all the way to the door. He turned left onto the street and slipped into the side alley alongside the Royale. For a moment, he leaned against the wall and shook his head. Sternwood. The last time he'd met Sternwood had brought a whole world of trouble. Mostly because he'd liked her and in her own way she'd liked him. This was unusual for a faerie. That he was liked and even grudgingly admired by Fopling the pixie who travelled with her was even more unusual. It was more in the nature of pixies to trap the unwary and to cause trouble. They were not the cute creatures once written of by church ladies of a certain age for the moral improvement of children. If anything the pixies were more dangerous than these ladies knew. Dorimant looked up at the side wall of the Royale and grinned at the lack of windows. With the Royale you brought into a dream of luxury. It was said that Sinclair Kamstock had stayed here when his mob was the biggest in Greenwood. The Argent-Sables, government agents had brought him down when they killed six of his werewolf enforcers. Kamstock died in prison savaged by a werewolf and screaming when he died. But before the Argies got to him, he had stayed at the Royale with four glamorous women and five glamorous and very dirty lawyers.

Dorimant, feeling that he'd left it long enough went back to the front of the Royale and entered again. The woman at the desk was talking with a small crowd of people and Dorimant took advantage to stroll to the lift and take it to the first floor. He went along the corridor counting off the numbers under his breath until he got to U89. Gently he knocked.

"Unwise, mortal," came a whisper like a breeze through saplings.

"Sternwood? It's me Dorimant," he murmured softly.

There was silence and after a few moments, the door opened. She stood by the window, her iridescent wings about her like some exotic gown. Her pale green hair was pinned up in a chignon and her eyes, black depthless pools gazed at him. Dorimant could barely stop himself from weeping. Instead he grinned and said,

"You're a lot better at being immortal than the Argies thought, huh?"

"Why are you here Mr Dorimant," she asked quietly.

"Somebody heard strange noises in this room and didn't think you were having merry fun with a lover. I was asked to find out what seeing as Straeger's coming to town," he said softly.

"I'm not here to kill anyone," she said.

"I know that, but the listener didn't and got worried. Then I came to the hotel and heard that Miss Sternwood was here. I - I wasn't sure, but I - ", he paused and lowered his gaze.

Sternwood smiled sweetly then and crossed the room to him.

"Were you afraid for me?" she asked softly.

He put his hands on the thin waist and tiny tendrils of ivy from her dress snaked about his hands. Very tenderly, he kissed her.

"You know, people used to think one or both my parents were werewolves, 'cause of my looks," he said.

She laughed quietly at that and invited him to sit by the window, the ivy tendrils releasing him and returning to her dress.

"How's Fopling?" he asked sitting in a burgundy velvet upholstered chair.

"He's fine I believe. Living downtown with a widow who runs a grocery shop. He gives advice and helps her out and says he loves her. But then he's a pixie and they don't really know much about love. Not the way you mortals do anyway," she answered.

"I was asked to come specifically by someone unknown. They said they had news of - well something I'm interested in. It's not something you need worry about, I promise," she told him.

"You don't want me butting in, just say so, it's fine. My office is over on Fenris Street though, over the top of Oliphaunt's Emporium. Come by sometime would you? I'd... look I miss you Sternwood. I'm not in love with you, but you and Fopling, I thought we were friends. I liked you both a lot and when you both went, well I understood I really did, but I thought you might come by in a while and say hallo," he faltered and she gazed at him with her head slightly on one side.

There was a look of curiosity on her face and Dorimant remembered she was a faerie and didn't work in mortal ways. There was the sound of footsteps outside the door and she glanced quickly at the door before dashing to him.

"Hide, it's him," she whispered.

Dorimant did as he was told, trusting her even as his cautious side was still reminding him that she was an elemental - a faerie. He hid on top of the wardrobe behind some boxes, where Sternwood put him. There was a silence, then the door was opened and somebody or something padded in.

"Do you have the news I want?" he heard Sternwood say.

"You got the money doll, I got the news and it isn't in the papers neither," her visitor answered.

"Fifty thousand ducats as agreed," she answered.

"The news is that somebody wants you very, very dead lady," her visitor growled.

Dorimant frowned. He was not afraid for Sternwood, it is near impossible to kill something immortal, but she could be made very sick. Silently he moved a box and peered down into the room. Sternwood sat on the bed, her wings out behind her, very still. In front of her was a minotaur with a long overcoat. Between his horns was a slouch hat and each horn was silver tipped - wise in a city with werewolves.

"Who wants me dead?" she asked curiously.

"You mean apart from Violet Snodgrass?" the minotaur asked with a chuckle.

"Who?" she said firmly.

"A Miss Selinka Bakewell," the minotaur answered clearly.

Dorimant's frown deepened. Something did not add up and he did not like the sound of things. Sternwood also frowned for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders.

"Thank you," she said and stood up.

The minotaur sneered,

"Pretty ain't you," he said lewdly.

"Elementals are," she said firmly.

The minotaur tipped his head back a little, then turned and left without a word. Dorimant grinned. As the saying in the streets went - Don't mess with the faeries. Dorimant eased himself off the top of the wardrobe and dusted himself off. He kissed Sternwood and told her,

"I'm on your side sweetheart, give me a little while would you?"

She tipped her head again and examined him curiously before nodding and giving him a little smile. Dorimant left U89 and went along to U90. Again, he knocked and the door was answered by Slinky Bakewell.

"Mr Dorimant," she said.

"I think we need to talk somewhat ma'am," he answered slipping inside the door.

The room was much the same as Sternwood's but with more clothing. Shoes were scattered along the front of the wardrobe and dresses upon the bed along with underwear. Slinky did nothing to remove them. She picked up a bra in chocolate coloured silk with pale gold ribbon inserts and put it carefully on top of a pair of matching knickers before sitting down on the bed.

"Who doesn't like you Miss Bakewell?" Dorimant asked.

"I'm an heiress Mr Dorimant, lots of people don't like me," she answered with a slight air of defiance.

"I mean who doesn't like you enough to want you very dead?" he asked dismissive of her answer.

She thought for a moment with a little smile that suddenly disappeared from her face.

"Did you find anything out about what I asked?" she said suddenly cold.

Dorimant sighed and told her to come by the office and pick up her money. He felt weary and wanted a coffee. He turned and left and at the door he paused and said to her,

"I'm trying to help you ma'am, strange as it may sound. I think somebody's setting you up for death by faerie. Just remember this, faeries are immortal, " he told her.

She did not look up and with another sigh, Dorimant closed the door behind him and was about to go back to U89 when he suddenly felt the longing for coffee and noise. He went down the service stairs and crossed the service delivery area as if he belonged there. He went out into Vervain Street and along Campion Road to a small coffee house. It was bustling there, but he managed to find a table by the window and sat down. He ordered a pot of coffee and asked for a newspaper. The Greenwood Review was placed on the table and the waitress fetched him a pot of coffee. He fished in his pockets for two ducats and picked up the newspaper.
For a while he just held the paper in his hands, gazing out of the window. The waitress put the coffee pot down on his table and he handed her the two ducats. She gave him fifty denari change and left him. Dorimant poured himself coffee and took a little cream and sugar with it. As he stirred the coffee he read of the Prime Minister's visit. There was a paragraph about Straeger's family and his business connections that he read and sneered cynically over until a thought suddenly struck him. The sneer dropped from his face and the paper from his hand.

He got up and asked a waitress if there was a phone. She pointed to the side of the bar and taking his coffee he drank it down in quick gulps that would play havoc with his stomach later. He crossed to the phone and dialled the Royale.

"The Royale, may I help you?" a woman asked.

"Room U90 please," Dorimant said with a calm he did not feel.

There was a click and a pause, then Miss Bakewell answered the phone.

"It's Dorimant ma'am, I've figured it out. Go next door to room U89 and tell Sternwood that you don't want to kill her and it's a set up. Tell her Dorimant told you to do it. If you don't, I reckon you have twenty minutes more to live," he said quickly.

"Mr Dorimant, are you drunk?" she asked.

"Dammit, lady if you like living, do as I ask please. I've just had coffee and I'm missing the rest of the pot because of you. Do it and I'll be there quickly," he said with some exasperation.

She sighed and said something inaudible before hanging up. Dorimant swore and took off leaving the rest of the coffee with some regret. He collected his car from Baribault's and drove downtown looking for a store that sold liquor. When he found one he asked for Fopling. No luck, but at the third he found the pixie disguised as an ugly old man sitting on an old chair outside with a bottle of whisky and a newspaper.

"By the Blood! Mr Kit Dorimant! How are you sir?" the pixie asked in a voice like cracking twigs.

"Sternwood may be in danger and somebody wants - o dammit, I need your help Fopling. I need you because you know what I'm like and I can trust you to cause some serious trouble when it's needed," Dorimant told him quickly.

"Trouble? You want me to cause trouble? My dear mortal why didn't you say so. Give me a minute and I'll be with you."

The pixie's eyes gleamed and he went inside the store briefly before a small dog ran out and leapt into the car onto Dorimant's lap. Dorimant noted the rather too pointed ears and pulling the door shut, drove back towards the Royale. The minute he entered the Royale with the small dog behind him however, the desk clerk pointed at him and said loudly and clearly,

"You sir, kindly leave!"

"You want trouble now, mortal?" the small dog asked him.

"Why not? Then come on up to the first floor - Room U89," Dorimant replied standing still.

Six liveried men bore down upon him and suddenly paused as the flowers woven into the carpet began to stretch and grow upwards, around the legs of the men. The suitcases suddenly leapt from the floor and began to growl as they shuffled to herd the humans aside. Dorimant dashed through the middle of this chaos and headed for the lift, the small dog after him. The desk clerk reached for the telephone when it's receiver raised itself up and coiled it's cord about her wrist, hissing static at her. She screamed and tried to pull away knocking another phone to the floor but that phone receiver arose and coiled up around her thigh. She whimpered then fainted.

The first floor was quiet and still. Yet, along the corridor Dorimant was suddenly aware of two large minotaurs standing conspicuously against a door. He just knew it would be U90 and he was right. However, he was also aware that the minotaurs saw only a man with a small dog. One of the minotaurs stood up and squared himself off for a fight. He grinned bullishly and Dorimant, tall lean man that he was paused. The small dog did not. It ran between the legs of the first minotaur and bit the second in the leg. There was a roar of pain and the first minotaur took a step forwards and threw a large solid fist at Dorimant's face. He ducked under it and kicked upwards hard. The minotaur grunted and fell to his knees. Now Dorimant took the minotaur by the horns and slammed the large solid head into the door of U89 before standing back quickly. The wooden door seemed to melt and the bull head passed easily through it, but could not get out again. The body quivered then lay still.

Fopling having begun with a bite had now bitten the beast badly enough to madden him. The minotaur lowered his head at the small dog and Dorimant took a running jump and kicked both feet into the seat of the minotaur's trousers. The weight of the beast's head carried him forwards and Fopling dashed between the minotaur's legs and leapt backwards and up suddenly becoming a large boulder that fell on the beast hard. The minotaur fell and did not rise.

Now Dorimant charged at the door of U90 and it burst open. There in the middle of the room was a tall man with an all too familiar face. He was trying to hold Miss Bakewell down on the bed, but she had hit him hard in the face as his bleeding nose showed. Dorimant picked up a suitcase and hit the man hard on the side of the head sending the man into a table. Miss Bakewell sprang up from the bed and as the man steadied himself, his face met her fist in a thunderbolt of a punch that sent him backwards into the open wardrobe. He collided into the back wall and seemed to fall through it. Dorimant glanced at Fopling who chuckled and dashed through the wall. Miss Bakewell turned and glowered at Dorimant.

"This was a private matter, Mr Dorimant," she began, but he cut her off.

"Like hell it was. My friend Sternwood was told that you wanted her dead. I knew that you didn't, 'cause if you had wanted her dead you'd know she was next door in U89. Which left the question who wanted you dead.

Sternwood happens to be a faerie - if she really thought you'd wanted her dead, you'd be the dead one and nobody would have done a thing about it because you don't mess with the faeries. It took me a while to think about it, but Straeger once knew Marston Gaskin the brother of the man who created the Snodgrass-Gaskin device. Marston Gaskin was disappointed because your father hadn't agreed that he be the leader of the Party, but voted for Straeger.

The only way he could get back at your father was to get you killed. He couldn't do it himself so he tried to implicate Sternwood who has a record with the Argent-Sables. He set the pair of you up and he was going to get you drunk and then tell Sternwood that you wanted her dead. She would have finished you off if she truly believed him. Then you heard noises in U89 which was Sternwood flying in and out of the windows at night and singing to herself. She does that a lot and the sound of her wings if you're not used to them is strange. So you brought me in on it and the minute I heard Sternwood's name..." he paused,

"Well I knew she wouldn't kill anyone unless she had a very good reason to do so. But you also didn't know she was next door to you. That seemed unlikely if you really wanted her dead."

He held out his hand to her.

"Will you trust me ma'am? Come and meet my friends," he asked her.

She glowered at him for a moment and looked at the legs of Marston Gaskin wriggling in the wardrobe. Then she took his hand and he led her next door. The minotaur had shrunk and fallen from the door. They stepped over him and entered the room. Sternwood sat astride Marston Gaskin's face with a large feather. She was tickling his nose with it and he was shaking his head furiously. In the burgundy velvet chair by the window, Fopling sat with a bottle of whisky from the minibar watching. They looked up at the two mortals who entered the room and Sternwood asked him,

"Shall I kill him, Mr Dorimant?"

Gaskin looked frantically at Dorimant who chuckled and shook his head.

"No, let him live, but you could shrink bits of him," he suggested.

Fopling chuckled and winked at Gaskin. Sternwood arose and dragged him through the wall into the room. She whispered two words, softly and quietly. Marston Gaskin struggled and writhed and began to shrink until the cry of a baby came from the suit he'd been wearing. A furious little red faced baby who thumped helplessly at the air and kicked his little legs. Sternwood turned then to Dorimant.

"Sternwood, Fopling, this is Miss Slinky Bakewell and she doesn't want anyone dead. Well maybe me, but for that she'll have to join a queue," Dorimant said with a grin.

Sternwood tipped her head sideways and examined Miss Bakewell curiously. Fopling raised the whiskey bottle and grinned. Sternwood crossed the room and leaning forwards she took Miss Bakewell's face in her hands and kissed the young woman on the mouth.

"Be safe, be well mortal," she said softly.

Then turning to Fopling she asked, "Downtown again?"

Fopling remembered his own favourite mortal and chuckled like dry twigs cracking. He turned to a small white cat and leapt into Sternwood's arms. She took him and raising her iridescent colourful wings, flew out of the window.

"Thank you Mr Dorimant, but who's going to look after that baby?" Miss Bakewell asked.

"There's the Happy Foundlings Haven downtown. I'll drive him down there and tell 'em I found him somewhere. All part of the service," he told her.

"Keep the money Mr Dorimant, you earned it," she said softly.

Then she turned and left Room U89 and he stood there with a squalling baby, an empty suit and the faint trace of her perfume, a reminder that something beautiful had once been there with him.

The Snapper is down, the Snapper is down!

Charlie, Bingo, Foxtrot... the Snapper is down with the Lurgi, repeat - Snapper down with Lurgi. Also, her computer has crashed... in a foreign field.

The Lurgi Baron is still at large and has taken no losses... will nothing stop him?!

Have decided to go after him in the trusty Lurgi-Destroyer... will radio back when he is destroyed...

Charlie, Bingo, Foxtrot... what does that mean anyway? Can't I just say, F.A.B like they did on Thunderbirds?

Miss Kiss's Building

Miss Kiss was a very rich woman. When I worked at the Kiss's Building, I was a young clerk. People joked in the office that I, Mr Hugg was perfect to work there. I ignored them and continued with my work. I had been hired to rewrite reports from academics into a more accessible language. I enjoyed the work, but I was not immune to the gossip if only in that I heard it swirling around me. I hated it as I have always hated gossip. For me, rumour was like a dark ink drop in a glass of clear water - it tainted the water and darkened it. Yet I could not help but hear it even if I paid it no mind.

In the summer before I left the Kiss's Building the company took on a new Chief Executive. He was a tall, handsome man but with a cool, slightly stern look about him. It appeared that he had left the army and come to work in business. He had turned around a company in another city and now had come to do as much for us. I was not overly impressed, I thought we were doing just fine thank you very much, still I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

His first name was unknown, but his military rank and surname was known. So throughout the building he was called - though not to his face, Captain Coldheart. He was brisk, sardonic and efficient, yet not I thought unkind. On some investigation so Rumour would have it, he was said to have told one of the junior executives that he was not interested in love at all.

"Damn thing gets in the way of everything else. In all my dealings with it I have found it to be utterly futile, damaging and inefficient. I prefer to keep the weapons of that pernicious meddler Love at a distance, the further the better. Now if you have no further questions, I suggest you get back to work. I have no doubt your unofficial capacity of muck-spreader is much in demand," he was reported to have said.

For that comment alone I liked him. I came to admire his steadfastness and calmness in the face of the many and varied little storms that beset large organisations as ours. He called me into his office only once to question me on my rewriting of the reports and I was interested in his clear questions and calm voice. There was nothing wasteful in his manner. I asked him if he had met Miss Kiss yet and he shot a cool piercing glance at me that transfixed me. His eyes were dark, opaque pools as if of ink and he answered that he had not.

"Why do you ask?" he asked.

"I have never met her, sir and I was curious as to what she is like. I assure you that I have no other reason for asking sir. I am not a rumour monger and dislike gossip intensely. Only for myself I was curious," I answered him.

He did not answer me for some moments, gazing through my eyes into the very depths of me. It was as if his eyes were two dark searchlights scanning the very shadows in my personality perceiving every corner of me. I felt almost breathless, yet also strangely alive. The sensation was like being hunted through my own self. Then he answered softly,

"Yes, I have met Miss Kiss. She is like any other intelligent rich woman. I am glad you enjoy your work Mr Hugg, feel free to return to it. I may contact you from time to time regarding your reports."

That was it. I did not see him again. I only heard from him occasionally on the phone or an email would come through from him. I continued to rewrite the reports in my office, teasing out meanings and replacing lines with a few words to keep the meanings but halve the number of words where possible. In the final year reports I was, as it were, mentioned in dispatches.

A new woman arrived and I was moved out to share an office with Katie Love. I was unhappy at first, I did not want distractions and was sure that Ms Love would distract me with the usual chatter. However, she was quiet and seldom in the office. Mostly she was out going to the various branches. I would only know that she was in the building at all from her red coat on the peg and her purple beret on her in-tray. Her bag I never saw but most likely she stuffed it in a drawer of her desk like many of the other women did. I was not aware of her, but it seemed that she was very much aware of me.

Late one afternoon she came into the office bringing her clean, fresh scent like Jasmine and bergamot and flashed a dazzling and charming smile at me.

"Aren't you going to lunch precious?" she asked me.

I was annoyed almost instantly. I disliked being called 'precious' as if I were a small child. So I ignored her and continued with only a frown. She was not to be put off so easily.

She took her beret from the in-tray and her coat from the peg. The black pencil skirt and crisp white cotton blouse were serious and sober but undermined a little by the crimson suede high heels she wore. She crossed to me and handed me my coat.

"Come on Sober-sides, come and have lunch with me. I shan't accept 'no' for an answer. We've been pushed together in this office and I know practically nothing about you."

She paused and I sighed and raised my head frowning at her.

"Not only do I not know anything about you, I'd rather like to. You seem a lovely boy working away as you do. Come along, let Katie show you something of the world outside of work," she said with a sweet and charming smile.

"If you don't mind..." I began,

"Of course I don't mind. It will be lovely for the two of us to get to know each other and see what we're sharing an office with," she said quickly.

Seeing that she really would not take a refusal I arose, took my coat from her and went out to lunch with her. I spoke little, or so I thought, but she asked such questions and slowly, patiently drew me out. There was something bright and lovely about her like a summer morning. I felt that with her nothing could go wrong for the world seemed to rearrange itself around her.

Love, as Captain Coldheart once emailed me to some comment I'd made is pernicious like that. It does not confront you openly. It sneaks up silently and gets you when you are least expecting it. I did not believe for an instant that I was falling in love with Katie Love. Like the Captain, I did not care for love. My heart had been broken badly at the age of sixteen by Miss Rosie Stone and I had resolved ever since to avoid it. I had made good on my promise until the day Miss Love had handed me my coat and insisted on my having lunch with her.

Whenever she was in the office during the day she would make a point of having lunch with me if she could. It was pleasant enough at first, she was a lively conversationalist as well as being both witty and warm. I fooled myself that she was just being sisterly, but she wasn't. She had set her purple beret at me and intended me for her own. Yes Captain, Love is pernicious like that - it fools you into melting when you are sure you are still comfortably frozen. I don't even remember when I had started to hope that I would enter the office and find her red coat on the peg and her purple beret in her in-tray. I don't recall the first time I longed for her to come into the office and hand me my coat. Why?

Because all those times were eclipsed when she took me to lunch and sat me down at Clotilde's Kitchen on that one fateful day and threw me into utter confusion. She reached across the table and took my hand in her own long slender cool fingers and gently squeezed. I felt the sudden fiery spark of electricity in that touch and my breath left me suddenly. I looked up into her intense green eyes and almost panicked, but she smiled. I could say I hated it when she did that, but I would be lying and I'd know it. I could say I wanted to run, but somehow I didn't as terrified as I felt. I sat there, my fork hovering over the last pieces of a finely done salmon with samphire and new potatoes and a sauce Clotilde that was like nothing else in the universe.

"Don't be afraid Tom," she said softly, "I have come to realise how much I love you. Oh I could fall for Simon from Accounts or Jason in Law, but for all their working out and their cars and what have you, they are not - kind. I want..." she paused.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you Tom and I have never felt so sure about anything in my life," she said finally.

I felt as if she were speaking to someone else, as if I were dreaming and on the verge of waking up. I gazed into those green eyes, the crimson splash of her lipstick vivid against her skin and felt the blood throb in my head. I suddenly remembered Rosie Stone and tugged at her grip. She did not let go but tightened her grip and said softly again,

"It's alright Tom, I won't hurt you."

I somehow dragged my gaze away from her and a movement caught my eye. Captain Coldheart entered Clotilde's and with him was a tall, assured woman at his side. The Captain seemed changed somehow, he did not seem so stern, so cool or composed. It appeared that Love his former enemy had conquered him also. I took a deep breath and turning back to Katie Love, I said quietly,

"I can't go on like I have any more Katie. I surrender. I'm yours. Only I beg you, don't break my heart for I could not bear it again."

She blinked slowly and smiled half-rising in her seat she leaned across and kissed me, her scent delicate in the air about me. I believe it was something about Kiss's Building and either Katie or Miss Kiss started an avalanche, for soon after we were married, eight more people in the company fell in love also.

That's Love for you a most pernicious enemy with wings of steel, but at least he is occasionally willing to relent and forgive. That's more than I ever did for him.

Freshers and why they must be avoided!

Alas and thrice woe (with a side salad of woe and woe dressing on it). I have gone down with the dreaded Lurgi known as... Fresher's Flu. This wouldn't be so bad if I actually was a fresher and not a notetaker.

As such I will have to leave tales for a bit to duff up this Lurgi, but when I return there will be more tales than at a puppy convention of particularly happy puppies.

In the meantime I take myself to bed and cough and groan quietly (don't want to disturb the neighbours after all). Do not fret... (well maybe a bit if you like)... I'll be back!

This was the last tale in the thread before I surrendered to the inevitable and began this very blog. It's inspiration was a poem by Stephane Mallarme the 19th Century French poet called Brise Marine or Sea Breeze.

The wide sky filled with a grand drift of clouds their slow movement promising a breeze. The ships below rock gently cradled on a slightly rippling mass of water, clear and blue. Reflections of the sky drift on the waters and the ships are ready to go. But the men on their decks are at ease, taking things easy. Then a whisper of wind, a ruffling of hair, a stirring of the ropes and the masts lean towards each other murmurings in their lines of salt air and wide endless spaces. The men cry aloud to each other and move with excitement.

Women turn to each other catching the excitement of the wind and the waters and the tall masts around them like a forest about to move. They turn to the lines and release the sails that belly out and fill - a sudden pregnancy of expectations and desire. Moorings are slipped and languidly the ships slip away from the quays, slow at first, feeling their liberty - until sure of it they dart forwards into the open channels hearing the dizzying call of the greater liberty of the sea.

The sea and wind sprites are called up by the wise women on the prows, softly and politely invoked. The women lean over the prows, a single rope holding them to the ships, their hair streaming back, fluttering like the pennants and ensigns on the masts. Their arms cast outwards and wide in supplication, their soft words flung like gulls out into the bright clean sharp air. The sprites come then and tease their callers, cradling the ships before flinging them about a little to show their power.

"You do not treat us lightly," they seem to say.

The wise women speak with the sprites peaceably and politely. The men stand well back from the prow and do not speak. But this demonstration of the power of the wise women un-nerves them. They want their own power and do not understand the tricky relationship of the women and the sprites.

The time will come when they will no longer call the wise women onto their ships, they will trust in the power of their ships and engines and the women will be but figureheads - reminders of the invokers of sea and air. The sprites will no longer speak with us but disappear to their depths and heights of sea and sky. Every woman that grows wise will stand upon the shore and hear them singing and feel in her blood the link they once had with the sea and sky... and earth.

The Scarecrow

There was once a long time ago three very bored children. They were so bored they actually got to 'helping' their parents around the house. Their mama after a while, dearly tho' she loved them finally had enough.

"Children," she told them, "You must go out and play, for the day is bright and lovely. It is too beautiful to be indoors. Build yourselves a tree house or something."

The children sighed but went out into the garden. I should tell you about them really. The oldest was called Sam and she wore a white dress with flowers on it, sneakers and her dark hair was down to her shoulders and kept getting in the way of her face. The middle one was called Tam and he always looked cross, which he was. If you call your child Tamburlane you must expect such things, even if that child insists on being called Tam. The youngest, they called Raspberry Jam or Jam for short. That was because he was small, red-faced and very sticky. He was always dashing about which made him red in the face and no matter how often he was scrubbed and washed he always managed to become sticky. That's children for you.

At one end of the garden was a large shed with all kinds of things in it. Boxes of fabric, bits of leather, old pieces of wood and the like. The children decided that they would make a camp in there and use the stuff to make furniture and secret things, which was not a bad idea at that.

But beyond the bottom of the garden was another garden with a house attached. It was said that a witch lived there, but the children's mother was unimpressed by such nonsense.

"Just because Miss Hexham is an old lady living alone with her cat and wears black it does not mean she is a witch. That is just a lot of nasty prejudice. It's no wonder she can be a bit snappish at times." she said.

Sam did not say it, but she thought that it did not mean Miss Hexham wasn't a witch either. But it was always wise to let her mother have the last word when she was in that kind of mood. Miss Hexham's old cat was black, long-haired and generally amiable to polite children, so the children did not mind him at all.

When they opened the shed door they noticed that a window was open and Sam sighed. No doubt her father had left it open. They trooped in and left the door open to air the shed, which smelled of dust. First thing Tam decided was to move things so they would have room to move in the shed. He went under a very tight space between boxes and found himself face to face with the cat.

"Oh, hallo cat. Sorry to disturb you." Tam said politely.

The cat closed both moon eyes slowly and purred. Tam reached out and gently stroked the warm fur of the old cat's head.

It took some time to clear the shed but between the three of them, they moved boxes and fabric carefully until they had a small cave inside the shed with light coming in through the open window and something like a small dais on which the curled up cat watched them. They decided that he would be their mascot.

The cat was much amused by this but said nothing. Sam then took a pair of broom handles and decided that she was going to make a scarecrow for their father's vegetable patch. Instantly Tam and Jam wanted to join in, so she told them to find some things to make the scarecrow with. First she tied the two handles so that the scarecrow had two legs. Then Tam wrapped some cloth around the body and some old tatty sheeps wool went around the neck and shoulders. Some nylon chiffon was tied on, thanks to Jam and then they looked for a suitable head. They found a strange set of small cardboard packaging which was tied and glued together to make a sort of head.

"It looks like a piggy." said Jam.

It did too. Tam got some leather scraps for the ears and Sam added some of the tatty sheeps wool to give it some sort of wig. Then they put the head on and admired it.

"It should certainly scare the crows." Tam said.

"I'm scared of it." Jam said and hid behind Sam, clutching at her dress with sticky fingers.

"It's not that scary." Tam told him scornfully.

"Anyway Jam, you're not a crow so you don't have to be scared." Sam added, tousling her baby brother's hair.

They were about to put it up in Dad's vegetable patch, but their mother called from the kitchen and they left the shed in a rush saying a hurried goodbye to the cat. The cat was left all alone with the scarecrow and now he stood up smoothly and smiled to himself. He stared at the scarecrow as if studying it and if a cat could laugh, this one would have. He stretched his paws and yawned. Then he arched his back and little electric sparks dashed across his back.

He liked the children but he also thought it would be amusing to tease them a little. In a catlike, magical fashion perhaps. He got down from the little dais and slinked across to the scarecrow. Once more he arched his back and brushed against the scarecrow with his tail raised like a banner. The little sparks crackled along his fur, spiralled up his tail and as if with a life of their own gathered themselves at the tip of his tail before leaping on to the scarecrow and spiralling about it right up to the piggy like head.

The children did not go back to the shed for the rest of that day and forgot about the scarecrow by the time their father came home from work. They had helped their mother in the kitchen and made biscuits. Jam had gotten extra sticky and his mother had washed him in exasperation. Two minutes after she had washed, dried and re-dressed him, he was sticky again.

Sam and Tam had cleaned up the kitchen and taunted each other. Tongues were stuck out, fingers wiggled and imaginative insults hurled until they were both breathless with laughter. Mum made tea and they sat with her telling her stories, which she found quite amusing and said so. When dad came home they helped set the table and prepare for supper.

The lights from the kitchen lit up the garden and for a little while after the children had eaten they were allowed to watch the foxes in the garden before being sent to bed. The lights remained on downstairs and in her bedroom, Sam could not sleep. She sighed, shut her eyes and turned over in her bed, but still did not feel sleepy. Then her eyes opened when she heard a sharp crack. She was out of bed and at the window in a rush. At first, she could see nothing unusual. Across the back garden, the back of Miss Hexham's house was quiet. Only something flew out of Miss Hexham's window that looked like a very large black bird with two yellow moonish jewels on it's tail that she swore blinked at her solemnly.

Then she heard the cracking sound again but put it out of her mind, shook her head and went back to bed. It couldn't have been anything important she thought to herself. She went to bed and slept.

But in the garden, the foxes turned their heads quickly and darted away. The bats squeaked and flew up along with the sparrows who had all been asleep. With a softer cracking noise, the scarecrow came down the garden with an awkward shuffle. Amazingly it did not lose it's balance but about it's body little bluish electrical sparks fizzed. It went slowly and ungainly towards the house and peered in at the window.

It was a neat room with pictures on the wall that mum had painted in her student days. There was a blue and white gingham waxed table cloth on the table and the chairs neatly placed about it. The table cloth was a little sticky at one point but that was understandable with Jam in the house. The scarecrow stared in at the lit interior without understanding when suddenly it was caught as if by something creeping up on it. A muttered word from an old woman and the electrical sparks fizzed up to the ears and leapt between the scarecrow to the tip of the old woman's broomstick.

"Daft cat, teasing little ones like that!" Miss Hexham softly snapped and turned her broomstick away.

Outside the window, utterly still the scarecrow stood. Mum got quite a fright when she came to draw the curtains. She shrieked once and fainted. Sam awoke suddenly and dashed out of her room to save her mum. So it was that when dad came back in from the garden he found Sam, Tam and Raspberry Jam standing ruefully at the top of the stairs.

"Mum's alright," he told them with a smile, "Go on back to bed. It was just a scarecrow outside the window."

Sam was about to speak when Tam gripped her hand very hard and shoved his hand over Jam's mouth.

"Ok dad." he said and dragged his siblings back to Sam's room.

"Nobody says a word," he told them, "Nobody will believe it and we'll get into trouble."

So they made a pact and to this day they have no idea how the scarecrow came from the shed to the dining room window. Miss Hexham moved house to a small cottage in the Lake District - with no near neighbours for thirty miles. The scarecrow was taken apart by the children quietly the next day.

Three New Broomsticks

Next in the series first shown on Chocolate and Zucchini


Once upon a time... in a small town where nobody believed in such things as magic or faeries or witches or any of that kind of nonsense there lived in a quiet house a quiet man. He was a genteel man, kind and charming to all he met, but very quiet for all that.

His house was a charming house with a quiet cat who sat in the window for the morning sunlight. At the back of the house the quiet man made all kinds of wooden objects. Boxes, linen chests, and even toys were quietly made by the quiet man. Other than that he took coffee at eight o'clock in the morning after feeding the cat and read the newspaper quietly. He would take a short walk and return to place his hat on the hat stand and his coat on the coat stand. He would greet the cat who would reply by shutting both eyes slowly and peaceably while purring softly.

Now outside the front of his quiet house there was a small square with trees and hedges and a pair of benches where people passing could read their newspapers or books or just take a rest in the morning sunlight.

One morning, three old women strode into the square and sat on the benches. They were very old and very wise and dressed in black. Long black dresses, long black boots in what looked like crocodile but not quite - dragon possibly. From the inside of their boots to the top were little mother of pearl buttons. Over each of their shoulders each woman had a bag and each wore a shawl of the blackest cashmere. They might have been old but they were fashionable. They were sisters and were called - Cora, Dora and Nora. Cora was the youngest and Dora the oldest, but Nora was the middle one and she was always getting interested old men following her. But this morning was different for the old men were still in their beds.

Cora took her knitting from her bag and began to knit a long sleeve. Dora took her glasses from her bag, perched them on the end of her nose and took a book, which she continued to read with a sigh of contentment. Nora took a small paper bag from her bag and after some rustling took out a pain au chocolat which she began to eat slowly, savouring every bite. She really was quite something was Nora. It's no wonder old men were interested in her.

At half past eight the quiet man opened his door and stepped out into the sunlight. He shut the door behind him and took a deep breath. Then he walked across the square. He raised his hat to the three women and politely wished them good morning.

The women answered, "A fine morning for a flight if a bird had wings."

The quiet man agreed and continued with his walk. When he returned the women had gone, but it was enough. He entered his quiet house, placed his hat on the hat stand, his coat on the coat stand, greeted the cat as usual and passed through the house to the workshop at the back.

He chose three fine oak shafts and gathered from his little garden three bunches of hazel twigs. Now he went to work slowly placing the hazel twigs together. He took from a box three silver wires and bound them around the tops of the oak shafts tightly.

Lady Woodacre came in around half past nine for the jewellery box she had ordered and commented that the silver was surely a waste for such sensible things as brooms.

"The servants will only remove the silver and sell it. Copper would be more practical and less of a temptation." she advised.
"My Lady may have a point." the quiet man answered softly.

Lady Woodacre oohed and aahed over the beauty of the jewellery box which she was sure she adored. She paid him six gold ducats for it and left glad to have been of help to him.

The quiet man gathered the first bunch of hazel twigs and washed them in fresh rainwater gathered after a storm. He shook them dry and left them to dry completely. Now he gathered three crow feathers, three seagull feathers and bound them about the first of the oak shafts with birch bark strips. When the hazel twigs were dry he bound them about the first of the oak shafts with more birch bark strips. Now he had a broom, but he was not finished yet. He trimmed the hazel twigs at the shaft end and wove raw wool about the cut ends of the twigs. Now that was the first broom.

He was about to start on the second when Old George came in for something, but began to chat and forgot what it was he'd come in for. The quiet man put the kettle on and took tea with Old George. This took two hours and by then it was time for lunch. Old George had to get to the library to meet his daughter. He would ask her what it was he had come to the quiet man for. The quiet man shook hands with Old George and saw him out.

The cat now sat in the doorway to the workshop and meowed. After all, it was time for lunch. The quiet man came into the house and fed the cat some scraps of chicken. The rest of the chicken he put into some pasta made using the absorption method that a charming young woman had told him about in a cafe.

After lunch he returned to the workshop and found himself facing three curious faces. The Wilder children lived across the square from the quiet man and he would make them wooden puzzles. He had made a ship for Mary Wilder with a crew of cats in little jackets painted in blue with red collars. Valerie Wilder was given a sensible writing/drawing box which opened out into a desk and contained all she would need to draw or write. Tom Wilder was given a large nutcracker in the shape of an un-magical elf which nobody would consider magical at all. He talked to them and they commented on the wonder of his gifts and which bits they liked most and what they would make if they were able.

They were followed by John Jackson and his cousin Jack Johnson (truly!) who had asked the quiet man for tool boxes. He gave them the tool boxes and hoped they would suffice. John and Jack were delighted and talked also before they too left. The day continued in much the same way, but the quiet man did not turn anyone away nor politely cut anyone short.

By the evening, after supper he finished the broomsticks and in the very early morning placed them outside against the tree in front of his house. This done, he went to his bed until seven o'clock. Vaguely, as he settled to his bed he heard boots treading into the square and the voices of old women. Then he slept.

At eight o'clock he poured his coffee sleepily and sipped it while he read his paper absent-mindedly. Beside the coffee pot a small bag appeared, but he did nothing about it. Instead, almost automatically he left the house for his walk. He went across the square, past the church through the park and back past the museum and the church.

When he got to the little square he greeted Cora, Dora and Nora and wished them good morning politely.
"Good enough to fly like the birds." they answered him.

He smiled and went indoors, placed his hat on the hat stand and his coat on the coat stand. The cat on the window watched as the three old women hopped onto their broomsticks and flew away. He peaceably closed his eyes slowly and purred. He may have remembered the wind whistling through his fur once, but he said nothing.